


A Slip of Paper

by greenwillow



Series: Top of the Class [8]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Secret Relationship, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29064864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenwillow/pseuds/greenwillow
Summary: Aldhelm and Aethelflaed finally deal with the inevitable. Aldhelm encounters two friends and a foe.
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Aldhelm (The Last Kingdom), Aldhelm & Hild (The Last Kingdom)
Series: Top of the Class [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048940
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	A Slip of Paper

**Author's Note:**

> This series has ended up having more a multi-chap fic quality to it than I initially anticipated, but it's not possible to change the format, just wanted to acknowledge that haha. I have 4 more parts planned out, so still aiming for 12 in total. Thanks for reading along if you've stuck with it!

The bed is cold and empty when Aldhelm wakes. His first thought is that he’s woken at home, not used to getting up alone when he’s at her place.

He has a vague memory of her rising earlier in the morning, but he’d assumed she’d come back to bed. The entire flat is still; he doesn't hear the hum of the coffee maker or the water running. The haze of the wine has lifted, but he still feels a pounding in his head. He thinks back to last night, to the many times disaster had (presumably) been averted, and then remembers how they’d ended the evening. Perhaps that’s why his head is pounding. He knows what comes next, he can’t put off the conversation any longer. Aethelflaed must, on some level, know too.

Rolling over from her side of the bed (where he’d gravitated in her absence), he reaches for his phone to check the time. 8:06 AM. Still early for a Saturday. He’s beginning to grow worried when he hears the front door open.

Aethelflaed breezes into the bedroom a few moments later, pulling her wireless earbuds out and smiling. She’s wearing athletic attire, her hair is in a high ponytail and her color is heightened.

“Sorry, needed a jog,” she pants, throwing herself on the bed beside him— not close, but not quite at the other end either. There’s no trace of the angst from last night on her face, but the cheerfulness in her voice seems a bit forced.

“Rather cold for that, isn’t it?” he asks, scanning her face.

“Only for the first ten minutes,” she replies and sets her phone down, thenbounds over to the window, opening the shades halfway.

He winces away from the light, and she laughs.

“Hungover, are we?”

“You’re clearly not,” he says, half impressed and half annoyed. He’d definitely expected her to be having a worse time than him.

She unzips the sleek down jacket she’s wearing, then pulls the thermal shirt below off too. “You’re older than me, you must remember.

“Only three years older,” he replies, his tone almost a reprimand.

She’s down to her sports tank and underwear now, her chest glistening with sweat and the hair on her thighs standing on end in the cold.

“Sorry, sir,” she says teasingly, returning to the bed on all fours. “Didn’t mean to offend.”

Her gaze is heavy as it sweeps over him, but it lacks a certain warmth behind it.

She kisses him, his hand gravitates to her shoulder as she hovers above him, but then his touch stiffens, holding her at bay. It takes some effort, and the way she looks at him makes him dread what has to come next. 

He’s trying to remember the speech he’d worked out as Aethelflaed pulls back, the facade she wears growing icy.

“So we’ll talk now, I suppose,” she says in clipped tones.

He draws his knees in towards his chest, aware of how inappropriate the setting is for this type of conversation. He’s wearing a t-shirt, in only his boxers beneath the sheets. They ought to get dressed and move to the sofa. But if he doesn’t begin now, he never will. And she doesn't seem in the mood to permit any stalling.

She gets a robe and wraps it around her, then sits on the edge of the bed, out of his reach, legs crossed.

“So this is the part where you tell me it’s been fun but it’s time to move on,” she says, her voice even and deceptively light.

“Aethelflaed—“

“It’s fine,” she replies, making eye contact with deadly precision, “I knew, last night. I knew before last night. I’ve always known. It was our agreement, after all.”

He sighs, pushing the knuckles of one hand against the opposite palm. She’s still wearing an opaque expression, brows lifted slightly, chin raised. For some reason, it needles him into proving to her he’s not as detached as she seems to be.

“I don’t _want_ to end things, you know.”

“Oh?” Her expression doesn’t change.

“No, I don’t…of course I don’t. But…it doesn’t make much sense to continue, does it? It’s only getting more complicated for both of us, and it was never supposed to go on like this, was it?”

She’s staring out the window now. The color in her face has faded away and her brow is slightly furrowed.

“Why did you come back last night? Why did you stay?”

He clenches his jaw, exhaling deeply before answering, “I don't have a good answer for that, I’m afraid.”

She turns back to him, and there’s a hint of anger in her eyes. “At least you’re honest.”

He swallows his reply. It won’t do any good to explain why he’d wanted one last evening together. “I’m sorry. I never should have—“

“Accepted my initial offer?” She laughs. It’s a bitter laugh, the kind that spills forth from disdain, not humor.

“Aethelflaed…”

“It’s alright. This thing wasn’t built to last,” she says, shaking her head. She tells him as if to share new information with him, as if to release him from his self-imposed obligations.

She’s pulling the collar of her robe close about her, beginning to shiver as she comes down from her runner’s high. He wants nothing more than to wrap her in his arms, but that’s as impractical an impulse as he can have right now.

“I suppose we broke too many rules after all,” she adds ruefully. A bit of regret has crept into her tone, but there are no tears, unlike last night.

He's been dreading more tears, but it’s almost worse this way—what a fucked up thought to have.

“Term’s almost over, at any rate. It’s not like this could have gone further, is it?”

Her question has the tone of a challenge, but he nods in agreement. Exams are coming, and that was line even he could not cross.

She nods sharply and draws herself up from the waist, squaring her shoulders as if preparing for battle. When she turns back towards him she looks almost exactly the way she had that first day she kissed him in the classroom. One eyebrow raised, lips slightly parted, a cool and determined look on her face.

“What happens next?” she asks, as if he has the upper hand in some way. He doesn’t, but she’s making it clear the timing is his decision. He can’t determine if it’s a kindness or a cruelty.

“I…I suppose I ought to get out of your hair,” he says, repressing his confusion at how casually she’s taking this. He’s not sure exactly what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this.

She rises to her feet, fiddling with the tie of her robe in a restless manner.

“I’m going to shower while you pack. Need to warm up.”

He nods, and she vanishes into the bathroom and immediately turns the water on.

It doesn’t take him long to gather his things. He gets dressed and clears out the drawer in the closet, checks the laundry and finds one of his shirts among her items, and makes neat piles of the few books he has with him on the entryway table. He still has her spare key, he remembers, and separates that from his own before leaving it atop a slip of paper so she’ll be sure to see it.

He’s awkwardly lingering, unsure whether she’d meant for him to leave while she’s showering, but then the water shuts off and he decides to wait. It seems very discourteous to leave without saying goodbye, and the whole morning has been abrupt enough as it is. 

Aethelflaed joins him in the living area a moment later wearing a different robe, her wet hair falling about her shoulders. She scans the collection of belongings he’s gathered and frowns. “Wait there.”

She vanishes into the bedroom and returns with a large canvas tote bag. “You ought to use this—it’s icy, and you’re carrying too many things loose.”

His fingers brush against hers as he accepts.

“Don’t worry about returning it, it’s quite ugly and I don’t need it.” Her tone is bright, but it’s got an edge to it.

“I suppose I’ll see you on campus, then,” she adds, raising her chin and smiling as if it’s the most ordinary, friendly goodbye in the world.

He hesitates for a second longer than he should, wanting to find the right words to say but struggling to find any words at all. She’s looking up at him with a slightly softer expression than before, but somehow that doesn't make it easier.

 _This would be simpler if I didn’t care about you so much_ , he thinks. _I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I wish things could be different._ Even then, he can’t wish nothing had ever happened between them.

Out loud, he says, “Thanks for the bag.”

She gives him a tight smile, then quickly presses a kiss to his cheek. The smell of her rose-scented shampoo makes his chest ache, and it takes all of his self-restraint to keep from grabbing her by the waist and pulling her closer. Instead, he just tightens his hold on the bag.

He’s outside her flat before he begins to really process what’s happened. He’d been dreading it, and now it’s over, and so quickly. But he doesn’t know what to do next. It feels unresolved still, as if something had been accidentally broken and hastily tucked away in order to hide it from view.

Head still spinning, he wanders up to the library. He has several books he’d been meaning to locate before the break, but he wanders the stacks aimlessly for a time. The place is quiet, the only students there on Saturday mornings are far from the rowdy type. He finds a first-floor study room free and sets his things inside as he gathers the books from his list. Once done, he begins to make notes and lose himself in his work, gradually gaining mental distance from his distraction.

It’s almost two o’clock when Hild walks by. He doesn't notice her at first, but she knocks on the glass panel beside the door and he looks up.

Her face turns worried, and she ducks into the room and pulls the door closed behind her. “Aldhelm? Are you alright? You don’t look well…”

He begins to answer, the events of the morning rushing back to him, but the words catch in his throat so he swallows them.

She furrows her brow at him and takes a seat, fishing around in the bag slung over her shoulder.

“First, you clearly need to eat something,” she says, and hands him an oat bar and an apple. “You’re looking almost Dickensian.”

“Thanks,” he says with a chuckle, taking a bite of the apple and realizing just how hungry he is.

“How’s the end of term workload for you?”

“Fine.”

“Mmmm. And…how are you, otherwise?” She speaks as if reading from a questionnaire, but there’s a kinder intent behind her brusque demeanor.

“Not sure,” he says, holding the half-eaten apple between his thumb and middle finger. “I, ermmm…I did take your advice, finally.”

“Ah,” Hild says, her concern clearing into an expression of understanding as she leans back in her chair.

He forces what he hopes is more smile than grimace.

“Good for you.” She reaches out to lay a reassuring hand over his wrist, and he places his hand atop hers in silent thanks.

“I know how difficult it must have been.” There’s a trace of sympathy in her voice, but it’s mostly an even-keeled pride. “You did the right thing, you know.”

Aldhelm smiles weakly. “I’m still a fairly horrible person, don’t forget.”

Hild tilts her head at him. “I would hope so. Good people make terrible friends, in my experience.”

He laughs a bit, then sighs.

“Rough talk, was it?”

“Not really, no,” he says, furrowing his brow. He’s still processing. “I mean…they seemed to take it well.”

“That’s a relief then,” Hild says, folding her hands under her chin and studying him. “Isn’t it?”

He nods. She’s right, it should be a relief. But it doesn’t feel like one.

“You’ll be glad, in time. I know you aren’t now…but you will be.”

“I look forward to the day.”

“Not to entirely change the subject,” she says, “But Iseult and I are having a little get together at our place once the term ends. If you want to stop by, we’d love to have you.”

Aldhelm raises an eyebrow and tears the wrapper of the oat bar with perhaps a bit more force than necessary.

Hild allows herself a small chuckle, which pleases him. “It’s not a set-up this time, I promise.”

“Are you coming up with this now, to divert me?”

“Does that matter?” she asks. “I’ll text you the details. Does next Friday work?”

“I don’t see why not. I have…no plans.” It sounds more dramatic to his ears than he’d intended.

She sits with him for another moment, as if to make sure he finishes the food, and it’s comforting. His thoughts remain stuck in the events of the morning, but the calming energy Hild radiates prevents him from sinking too deeply into self-flagellation. It’s better than he deserves, but there will be plenty of time for that when he’s on break.

He hits a wall with his work soon after she leaves, but has no desire to go home and be alone with his thoughts yet, so he stops at a pub on his way. It’s not like him to start drinking midday even on a weekend, but apparently, he’s devoting the full term to things that aren’t like him.

Pyrlig is sitting at one end of the bar with a pint before him—that must be why the name of the place had sounded familiar. Aldhelm’s first thought is to dart away before he’s seen, but then he realizes a more concrete distraction will be welcome. It’s a bad idea to drink when he still hasn’t eaten a proper meal, but he’s full of bad ideas lately. This has less potential for destruction than his previous streak.

“Didn’t expect to see you here!” Pyrlig calls as Aldhelm approaches.

“Just heading home from the library and could use a drink.”

He takes a seat along the bar and orders a pint of his own. There are a group of undergraduates at one corner being somewhat rowdy, but Aldhelm keeps his withering glances to himself.

“It’s not usually this type of scene,” Pyrlig says, gently tapping his knuckles on the bar out of restlessness. “I suppose it’s that season when the students get restless and start making more of a nuisance of themselves. Anyway, what are you up to? I thought you’d be working away all weekend.”

“I am permitting myself a few breaks here and there.”

“Of course you are. Good.” Pyrlig eyes him shrewdly. “Are you alright? You seem a bit peaky.”

“Getting over a cold,” Aldhelm lies. He really ought to make a meal when he gets home.

“Ah, the dreaded end of term flu.” Pyrlig glances up towards the door and his expression immediately shifts to one of exhaustion. “Fuck. I believe the worst student in our High Medieval class just walked in.”

Aldhelm turns slightly to see Aethelred joining the group of students in the corner. “Oh, god.” It’s an involuntary response.

Pyrlig chuckles. “Every time I see him I wonder when the revolution is coming.”

Aldhelm raises an eyebrow in amusement. “I didn't know you were so political, sir.”

“I’m usually not, then that lot crosses my path and I start looking for a guillotine.”

Aldhelm snorts a laugh. “Very understandable. I had a run-in with Aethelred a few weeks back, actually.”

“How did that come about?”

“He had some…objections regarding his marks so far.”

Pyrlig shakes his head darkly. “Somehow, I doubt he agrees they should be lower.”

“He certainly doesn’t seem to understand there’s a level of objectivity.”

“These posh students will be the death of me,” Pyrlig groans. “Well, at least one of them has exceeded expectations. That Aethelflaed girl has impressed me even more this term. Too bad we’ll be losing her to law.”

Aldhelm tries not to cringe. It had been foolish to think he could escape thought of her even here. He makes an affirmative noise and takes a careful sip of his beer. Pyrlig, oblivious, drains his glass.

“Anyway, I should be off. Promised the wife I’d be home before too long.” He claps Aldhelm on the shoulder. “See you Monday, then—unless you want to join me at the gym tomorrow?”

“Next term, definitely.”

Pyrlig shrugs and shoves his hands in his coat pockets. “I’m going to hold you to that promise some day.”

Aldhelm smiles at the threat and waves him off.

He checks his phone once he’s alone—Aethelflaed won't have texted, but it’s a habit, and perhaps someone else had (they hadn’t)—then settles his tab. The group in the corner appears to have quieted down after getting an order of food. Aldhelm is grateful not to catch Aethelred’s eye as he collects his things.

He buttons his coat rather clumsily, hands full, as he makes his way and begins to mentally prepare himself to be anchored to his desk for the better part of the next thirty-six hours.

“Sir!” Aethelred’s tinny voice breaks through his thoughts.

Aldhelm turns to find the student standing behind him, holding his copy of _Roman Infrastructure in Early Medieval Britain_ and wearing an eager, wide-eyed, almost innocent, expression.

“You left this behind. Wouldn't want you to be saddled with a fine,” Aethelred says, his mouth twitching into a smile, “I know how troublesome that can be to someone in your position.”

 _What an ass_. Aldhelm forces a smile. “Thank you, Aethelred.”

“By the way, I did want to apologize for my demeanor the other week,” Aethelred continues, his countenance turning serious. “I was having a somewhat frustrating day and I believe I may have taken it out on you.”

Aldhelm raised his eyebrows, truly surprised. “I appreciate the apology. I conclude you will not be objecting to your end of term grade, then?”

“No, I believe I may have found another solution to my problem.” Aethelred’s smirk returns, and it’s becoming somewhat unsettling.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Aldhelm tucks the book under his arm, nods, and turns on his heel. He looks back once he reaches the front door and surveys Aethelred’s group again as he adjusts the collar on his jacket. Something seems off, but he can’t put a finger on it.

They’re talking and laughing, an ordinary collection of students congregating around a run-of-the-mill loathsome rich boy. Nothing unusual at all. Aldhelm begins to slide the almost forgotten book into his bag and realizes there’s a thin piece of paper sticking out the side.

It’s a takeaway receipt that he’d been using as a bookmark. Two curries, a delivery fee, and a signature. He’s about to put it back when he catches the name at the bottom and his heart nearly stops.

It’s Aethelflaed’s.

Aethelred glances back up at him at the exact moment Aldhelm is attempting to compose himself. He’s wearing a quiet smile, almost triumphant. It’s close in appearance to his default smirk, but Aldhelm feels quite sure there’s a particularly devious reason behind it. And he’s absolutely unsure what to do about it.

**Author's Note:**

> It gets a bit worse from here, I'm afraid (we still have 4 parts to go), but I will be kind to them in the end (I promise!).
> 
> Exam/Term structures are based on my very wobbly understanding of the British University system, if that seems off at all...I am sorry and if it's something I can fix let me know.
> 
> If you'd like, you can reblog the photoset and playlist [here.](https://aadmelioraa.tumblr.com/post/641666189243957248/aadmelioraa-modern-au-college-au)


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